


Danny & The Demons

by Brendan_Rendering



Category: Original Work
Genre: Comedy, Dark, Dark Comedy, Demonic Possession, Demons, Friendship, Gallows Humor, Gen, Ghosts, Good and Evil, Hell, Humor, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Platonic Relationships, Prophecy, Social Commentary, skeptic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:20:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24644707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brendan_Rendering/pseuds/Brendan_Rendering
Summary: Danny Galen was not in the mood to be murdered tonight, he was having bad dreams – and anyway– he didn't believe in monsters under the bed.My first original work, as a break from Ghosts fics.
Kudos: 2





	1. Danny's Demon

**Author's Note:**

> Suggested listening:
> 
> The 1975 - It's Not Living
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZqoXU583vsY&list=PLrcXkBsBsjNS6hfhNyWSnIZmdi4mHC1kB

The dark shape slithered out from under the bed, materialising as a shadow in the gloom of the night. It's form was a complicated mass of nightmares, an oil spill mixed with spiders, suffocating vines, an ocean in turmoil eager to drown an unwary sailor. The gleam of a deadly sharp blade shimmered on it's terrible surface as it's mass moved like a black hole, impossibly dark, drawing in and extinguishing all life around it. Moonlight filtered vainly through the uncurtained windows, struggling to reach into the corners of the room, blocked by this nightmare. The weak light of the moon could only highlight this creature, the horror that was taking shape, twisting it's form like ripples on a lake, writhing as if in pain. It was as black as coal, it was the personification of drowning, suffocating, being trapped in a small space, running out of air and hope. Life draining away into the nothingness of the eternal night.

It growled softly, a low menacing burr filled with an unshakeable confidence, it knew what it came here to do would undoubtedly be achieved, as nothing could match it's immeasurable strength and power. It reached out a slimy shadow of an arm, baring too many – horribly sharp teeth, wafting the stench of death and decay over the man sleeping fitfully on the bed. It pulled it's intense, bloodshot gaze over the figure, whispering tales of torture and suffering, promises of eternal pain, things to come. It was bringing him nightmares before it brought him death.

So close now, a trail of saliva protruding from between the deadly needle-like teeth, almost dripping onto the man's forehead as the creature hovered just above, it's rattling breath echoing in the silence of the room. The man dreamed of dark places as the creature fed him images of his own death. So close now, it's bony fingers closing around the man's throat, feeling for a pulse it would soon extinguish. The creature savoured the moment before it would squeeze the life from the man. “Time to die,” it rasped over and over, as if it's throat had previously been slashed and recently healed over. It spoke as if it's tongue had been cut out, the sound would make anyone's skin crawl, luckily the man was fast asleep and didn't have to endure the noise.

“Fuck off, I'm asleep,” the man mumbled, barely coherent in his sleep as he turned over suddenly. The creature's fingers slipped from around his neck. It recoiled as if struck, staring dumbstruck down at the man.

Danny was not in the mood to be murdered tonight, he was having bad dreams – and anyway – he didn't believe in monsters under the bed.

He was destined to die today, but he didn't believe in destiny either. He believed that what he didn't know couldn't hurt him, and so, quite by accident – he developed an uncanny ability to avoid death.

He was able to subconsciously ignore the monsters, when they towered over him, nightmarish and gruesome, his gaze simply slipped across them and the images of the creatures didn't make it as far as his brain to be processed. Danny simply didn't buy into superstitions or anything that remotely resembled an old wife's tale., he couldn't be bothered for any of that nonsense.

He unconsciously stepped over pavement cracks as if he'd been practising for as long as he could walk and now he had honed it into a fine art. It appeared – from the outside, as though he no longer gave it a single thought as he automatically adjusted his gait avoiding all of the cracks. He was allergic to cats so would give them a wide berth, making sure none – not just the black ones, crossed his path. He thought it was plain common sense not to walk under ladders or break mirrors – so he didn't do either of those things. It was pure self preservation, he didn't like dangerous hobbies or activities and so avoided anything that could considered to raise the heartrate in trepidation in fear as a matter of course. He held a fear of hospitals, which contributed to this avoidance. In fact, he did a remarkable job of leading a completely unremarkable life.

Until the day he died.

Well, until the day he was supposed to die.

The monster couldn't finish the job of killing Danny and dithered over him now, very confused. It's job was to kill people, it usually performed very well and held a 100% success rate over the thousands of years it had been doing this.

But not tonight. Danny simply didn't believe it was his time to shuffle off this mortal coil, and had willed himself a longer life by his absolute refusal to accept he could suffer the indignity of being snuffed out by a monster. (I mean...) One from under his own bed, (I ask you!) While he was sleeping no less! (That's just not cricket!)

The following day he answered the phone - grumpily as he had slept terribly - to his most hysterical friend – in the most hysterical state he'd experienced her in. Danny tried in vain to calm her down, “have you thought about...” He rubbed his temples with force, he felt as though he was explaining the most simple concept, and yet it wasn't getting through to Kyra. He didn't have the patience for this today, not since he'd had those nightmares again last night. “You know...not being cursed.” Kyra almost shouted her reply, in between racking sobs, “Danny! You're not listening. She cursed me! Cursed! Put a hex on me, the full works, says I'll never find happiness again.”

Danny crammed toast into his mouth, taking the opportunity while Kyra was wailing. “Yeah...ok...but...it's just words isn't it? She can't possibly know how your future will turn out. Unless she has a crystal ball, but even then I reckon all anyone would really see in a crystal ball is the reflection of their own face...But distorted horribly, no-one needs that...If anything Ky, this would be a self-fulfilling prophecy – if you believe it, you will it into being by worrying about it and therefore it comes true. Just don't think about it, laugh it off, move on and live your life.” Danny took a second to square his shoulders and sit up straighter, that may have been the most profound thing he'd ever said, he was very proud of himself. And it was only 8am.

“Danny, hun, you're the most obtuse person I've ever met, you wouldn't recognise a lion if it was roaring in your face.”

He deflated at this unexpected - and he felt undeserved - critisism. “Well, if I happen to find myself face to face with a lion...Which you have to admit – carries a miniscule amount of chance, almost entirely non-existant I would argue - I won't need to know what the thing 'is' that's about to eat me. Knowing a lion is a lion doesn't make it's teeth any less sharp, knowing I am about to die will not make it any less hungry...Accept the things you cannot change.”

He was equally as proud of this speech, deciding he was on fire with these idioms today, nodding slowly to the empty room, feeling very enlightened all of a sudden. If he believed in luck he might have put the lottery on.

“Oh, fuck off Dan.” Kyra said exasperated, and she hung up.


	2. Chapter 2 - Denying Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suggested listening:
> 
> The Midnight - Lost Boy
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7wvLqpWtTUU&list=PLrcXkBsBsjNS6hfhNyWSnIZmdi4mHC1kB&index=2

Danny was a man who lived his life without superstitions ruling his decisions or a fear of the unknown holding him back. He decided the world was how it was, and he – one insignificant man – was not able to change anything of note. He saw everything in life as a 'yes' or a 'no', an 'on' or an 'off'. Winning the lottery was fifty/fifty – you either won or you didn't, there was no middle ground, no amount of hoping or wishing would improve your chances. Things were as they were.

He often walked into rooms at night without first turning on the light, he didn't believe in the monsters who lurked in the shadows. Even if he had, he would have decided if a nightmare was to become sentient and was determined to kill him, there wouldn't be a lot he could do about it. He would just have to display as much dignity as he could muster, while he was being murdered. It wasn't that he didn't want to live, he didn't go round sticking wet fingers into plug sockets or starting fights in rough pubs – he didn't even smoke. It was more a case of him being aware of his own mortality and being at peace with the decisions he made in life. He would welcome death, when it occurred, as long as it was convenient for him at the time, of course. It wouldn't be acceptable if the Grim Reaper came to call during his favourite tv show, or when he still had beer in the fridge, that would be an inexcusable waste and didn't bare thinking about.

He remembered being a small child and sellotaping empty sweet packets into a notebook, with a description of what they were, believing as an adult he would look back on this in awe of the confectionery that was available when he was a child. He wrote his will when he was ten years old, just in case. That was the sort of person Danny was. He usually forgot to look both ways when crossing the road, but he did want to be prepared for his end of days, he believed passionately in preparation and organisation – even if he was apathetic on life itself.

Danny would watch horror films at night, alone, with the lights off. Some would consider this an extreme sport but Danny was unaffected by this. Watching scary films almost gave him a sense of superiority, chuckling derisively at the screaming morons on screen who stood still, watching slack-jawed as their doom approached, only deciding to run at the last second. Too late. Then they would run upstairs. Upstairs – further away from the front door and safety. Why did they always run upstairs? Then they would skid to a halt, realising they're now at least one storey high and will have to make the decision of breaking a leg by jumping to the ground – or dying outright if a couple of storeys high. Their one other option is to be stabbed / shot / devoured by whatever's chasing them up there in the first place. Foresight, Danny often mused, was a wonderful thing. If more people could only learn to think ahead and consider the possible consequences to their actions, the world would no doubt be a better and safer place.

The thing that humans don't know is that a demon is dispatched to bring about the death of a person. It's usually a simple affair, the demon appears with a 'pop' and causes the human to have a heart attack / run their car off the road / step out in front of a bus. They are the nice, easy cases the demons cut their teeth on, to hone their craft, practising manifesting in scarier and more surprising ways for extra effect. These account for all of the 'accidental' deaths, the quick and clean cases. 

There are the other instances, the more complicated and longer assignments that were spoken of in hushed tones, even by demons. The cases that were hoped for and feared in equal measures, the pinnacle of a demon's career, one of these cases could make or break an individual. These were the  
jobs where the demons spend a long time with their designated human, some people are marked out as broken from a young age. Their demon follows them everywhere, they don't have the luxury of a swift death. These people grow up with an unexplainable darkness inside their heads – their demons. They are forced to listen to the voice inside them that tells them they are failures, no-one will ever love them, things will never get better. This can go on for years, the demons tightening their hold on their human, until finally the day arrives when the human can take no more. They are driven to rid themselves of the burden that is their life – their demon – with pills / a rope / climbing to a high place and then – very quickly – getting to a lower place. People don't get up again when they've taken the quick route from a tall building or a cliff.

Some people say depression is akin to a black dog, which would surprise the demons who personify depression. They don't see themselves as a fluffy and loyal companion, they are more like an octopus inside a human's head, wrapping endless strong tentacles around their person, clinging, squeezing, cutting off the air and blocking out the light. An octopus who will gleefully drag a human under water, that's what depression is really like – it feels like drowning.

Once the demon has successfully claimed a life, they depart back to where they originate and wait for the next assignment. It happens in sequence, a circle that completes and starts again. That's how it's always worked, the system is what keeps the Earth turning, there has to be demons to bring death to maintain balance. As dark and cruel as their job appears to be, as hated and feared as the demons would be if the humans knew of their existence – and lived to tell the tale - they are a valuable service, like tax collectors. There must be darkness in the light, after all, without midnight humans wouldn't value mornings, the rainy days bring an appreciation of the sun.

Danny himself was blissfully unaware of his own demons and they were becoming increasingly frustrated at his ability to escape their clutches. Originally one was given the task of ending his life but more and more were joining the ranks, after the repeated failures. They were, not necessarily all working together, but working in conjunction with one another, desperately trying to bring about an end to Danny's life and still missing the target with every new scheme they implemented.

The demons usually preferred to operate stealthily, there seemed to be a certain level of professionalism involved in their craft. If, for example, someone was due to die, the demons might whisper in their ear as they slept, feeding them an idea they would remember when they woke. The next day the human may gather a few friends and suggest they all go tomb-stoning, that would surely be a great idea on a hot summer's day. They would remain fixed on their plan despite any protests about the danger, the humans had their adventure but most importantly, the demons claimed a life. Even the demons themselves struggled with the logic of humans sometimes, but it was a well-used method among the demon community to finish off a target.

The humans did all the work for the demons in that scenario. All it took was a short trip into the bedroom of the soon-to-be deceased one night, a few whispered words in a slumbering ear and the human would do the rest. The plan was usually executed perfectly, with the group standing at the top of a cliff, the intended target would dismiss any worries from the others and volunteer to jump first.

They would jump, it would inevitably go wrong, the target would be blessed with a quick death – and a bonus lovely view on the way down. Their friends would come to their senses and decide it was far too dangerous to partake in that sort of nonsense and would all go on to live long and happy lives afterwards. Unless of course, they were particularly close to the person who jumped – in that case, happiness wouldn't re-emerge for some time. And then there's the matter of their name appearing on an upcoming demon hit list, well, they could forget the 'living long' part too. But that is besides the point, the issue here is that sometimes – some of the demons were kind to their charges. They sometimes gave people a good death, an easy way out.

Danny had been marked for such a death, he lived an unremarkable life, not particularly good but also not noticeably bad. There were a few positive impacts he brought about, of which the misdemeanours did not outweigh. His assigned demon thought they would have an easy, open-and-shut case when they flicked through Danny's file.

However, the demon after meeting Danny, returned to headquarters dejected, their charge remained alive and they were given a disciplinary for failing to kill off their target.

They tried again, and again, and again. They utilised so many methods, they studied the old texts for traditional human killing ideas, racking their brains for ideas, becoming more and more desperate as Danny continued to live. He grew up, grew older, and although there had been a few close shaves with death, it never quite completed. He had originally been designated to die when he was fifteen, during one overcast Saturday late morning. Danny was at his first job, at a racing stables where he was being trained to ride, he would exercise the horses in addition to his yard duties and accompany the jockeys to the races as a stable hand once he was granted his license.

Danny loved his job, the horses, the sense of achievement, he was making a difference to the lives of these horses. All he wanted was to be able to work with horses for the rest of his life, ride whenever he could. A flicker of a flame burned in the eyes of his demon when Danny thought this – of course this could be arranged, the demon could easily ensure Danny would work with horses for the rest of his life. This was an easy promise to make for the demon as they planned to have Danny killed this Saturday.

When the day dawned, Danny was instructed to saddle up and walk down the hill from the yard to the warm-up ring where a jockey stood in the middle and had Danny ride around the outside, shouting instructions over the regular beating of the horse's hooves on the all-weather surface. The demon took the opportunity to morph into a frequency of light that was only visible to animals and small children, like a ghost. It seemed to settle across the horse's back like an invisible blanket but unmistakably present, the demon whispered in it's ear. If the horse had been human, the hairs on the back of it's neck would have been standing on end and they would have whipped their head around, convinced there was someone behind them. The demon, now having unsettled the horse, smacked it's hindquarters and the horse lurched forward in terror, as though suddenly pursued by a raging wildfire. 

Danny was unprepared for this sudden and dramatic increase of speed and didn't react fast enough. He felt himself sliding forwards, knew what was about to happen and was powerless to stop it. His demon watched, standing at the open gate of the ring, needing to see this through to it's conclusion before he could leave Danny.

The walls of the ring whizzed passed as Danny fell past the horse's shoulder, breaking his fall onto the ground with his face. The demon looked on proudly, their work here was done.

The jockey rushed over to Danny, dropping to their knees at his side they tried to revive him, the horse had halted when it felt Danny leave the saddle and sheepishly returned to him, sensing whatever danger there had been was now passed. The demon waited patiently, believing their job was now complete, but needing to wait for an ambulance, the pronunciation of death, order must be upheld, the routine must be followed.

They were thinking about their next case when Danny groaned and opened his eyes. The demon was astounded when he slowly raised his head from the ground, gradually sitting then standing up. He was covered in rubber chippings and his own blood, but he was – unmistakably – alive. Damn. The demon was forced to watch, dumbfounded as Danny was eventually helped back into the saddle. Despite the horse glaring suspiciously at the surroundings as though expecting a threat to appear at any time, and Danny bleeding profusely, they were a relieved trio who walked back up the hill to the yard.

Danny was sent to hospital, cleaned up and watched closely for signs of further head trauma, it was a while before he was physically fit again, his mental recovery took longer, but he was alive – and he was left with an impressive scar on his chin.

There were several subsequent near-misses in his life, when a demon had tried and failed again to prevent him from seeing another sunset, they didn't occur often enough for Danny to become suspicious, not that he would have read too much into it. Danny believed himself as a force to be reckoned with, he wanted to believe that at least, his life force was strong enough to make a difference, and he alone could control his own destiny.

This confidence barely wavered into adulthood, although he had been forced to leave the racing stables and had spiralled into depression at the lost opportunity to do the only thing he had ever loved. He spent years attempting to chase an elusive contentment in life. He repeated mantras of how he would succeed, he wanted to believe he was the best, nothing and no-one could stop him from achieving his goals. If only he knew what his goals were, he could have charged his meditations with greater power, rather than his standard statement of “I will achieve success, I will be happy...I will...erm...stay alive.”

It wasn't that Danny was too lazy to aim for a higher level of ambition, it transpired he was more inclined to manual work, he knew how to work with animals, that felt natural to him, he wanted a job that he could be proud of. He wished to dedicate his life to something that made a difference and preferably put calluses on his hands, but his circumstances so far had not revealed the perfect opportunity, so he settled for mediocrity instead and ended up working in a shop. It was a far less dangerous profession than riding racehorses and his demons sighed in frustration

By giving up on his dreams and working in a shop instead, he was given protection, his standards were set so low for himself, one of the very few things he wanted from life was merely to stay alive. In the absence of any real belief – he believed in this, his want to remain alive. It offered him the protection he needed against the demons. His subsequent escapes from the demons who followed him and tried to bring about his death was turning into a saga. It was almost as dramatic as someone walking under a piano suspended high above the street and passing underneath into safety, a second before the rope holding it aloft, snapped.


	3. Chapter 3 - Demons And Ghosts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suggested listening:
> 
> The Rasmus - In The Shadows
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_ao2u7F_Qzg&list=PLrcXkBsBsjNS6hfhNyWSnIZmdi4mHC1kB&index=3

Danny did not dedicate much energy to stifling his yawn as Kyra scowled at him, he shrugged apologetically at her but his boredom this evening was becoming increasingly difficult to hide.

He had agreed to accompany Kyra to their city's castle for a guided ghost tour at night, to learn about the history of the city, the castle and hopefully to see some ghostly apparitions. The tour guide was childishly excited about this, talking in great depth about the gruesome stories as they slowly walked through the castle. Their torches chasing shadows from the darkest corners and sending them dancing across the ancient stone walls, Danny would admit this setting – the old castle, at night, filled with the confident story-telling of their host did add to the atmosphere. Even he could feel the chill running down his spine at the drama of the stories, the darkness and stillness of the cold castle. Not that he believed the stories, he was here for Kyra – she really believed in all of this stuff, ghosts and such like. She was desperately hoping to see a ghost tonight – as if a long-dead knight or wronged lady would simply stroll across the great hall and wave a greeting to the living.

It was all a little too convenient for Danny's liking, he sometimes watched the ghost-hunting shows for a laugh, the over-confidence of the hosts who were reduced to gibbering wrecks as one of their mates banged on a wall next door and they started shouting about ghosts. He rolled his eyes at the thought. The tour guide had gathered them in a room on the west side of the castle to tell them about the main road that crossed the river from the south, ran along the west wall of the castle and northwards. It was the main road between London and Scotland, well travelled by gentry, merchants, pilgrims – and most importantly for this story – the armies of both England and Scotland as they fought for control of the city. 

The tour guide relished in his tales of bloodshed, hundreds of years of unrest in the borders, skirmishes and all-out battles in the city. He told of the English armies rushing into the front door of a church and clashing with the Scottish forces who had entered through the back door, the fighting that had caused the border between the two countries to relocate so often through history.

He dropped his voice to barely above a whisper as he told the gathered group tales of armies marching alongside the castle, on the other side of these walls. He reached to the side to touch the stone and paused for dramatic effect. Danny had positioned himself on the outer edge of the group so as not to appear too keen, he was more interested in the architecture of the castle than the old ghost stories. He found himself looking around, admiring the pillar he was near, not paying attention to the words of the tour guide as they faded into silence and were replaced by the low eerie beat of many marching feet. Kyra's eyes were wide with excitement or fear, Danny couldn't tell. The tour guide smiled around at the assembled group and spoke softly over the regular marching beat, he told them how the echoes of the long-dead soldiers echoed around the castle every day. 

They were cursed for eternity to walk this road, whether they were English or Scottish soldiers on the way to attack or defend their land, it was unclear. But they marched, every day for hundreds of years, past the castle still – the majority of these men would have died on battlefields, possibly a hundred miles from home. They were run through with swords, pierced with arrows, impaled on pikes, trampled by horses. They were knocked down and left to bleed out on the grass as their comrades and enemies fought over and around them, fighting an ancient battle, for the pride of their respective nations, for heritage and land rights.

There were so many unpleasant ways to die back in those days, slow and painful, fighting for the land that would subsequently change hands so many times, now seemed to be of little consequence. The tour guide told them of the drummers who kept the beat of the marching army, the lone piper who's tune rang out across the land – it would have been all fields back then. As if by magic – the sound of drums started up, a slow steady rhythm akin to the beating of a heart. The echo of life ringing through this castle, a shadow of it's former glory. The marching beat was soon accompanied by the wail of a bagpipe. 

Some of the group gasped, as though they believed what they were hearing really was the echoes of the past, the ghosts who roamed the land still – and not the tour guide's very modern and not-at-all ghostly speaker. Danny was quite enjoying the music, it felt fitting for traditional pipes and drums to be played in the castle, whether by ghostly hands or not, it belonged here. The tour guide was smiling around the group in a self-satisfied way as though he believed he was scaring them all out of their wits. Danny cast his gaze elsewhere, not wanting to meet the guide's eye, that's when he saw it. It had been hidden behind the pillar, a small speaker, it would have been successfully concealed, had it not been for Danny standing apart from the group. The single blinking light in the gloom seemed to be calling out loud against the authenticity of the host's story. Danny grinned and looked back at the tour guide, who had followed Danny's gaze to the pillar, and now looked as panicked as he clearly hoped the group would be. Danny winked, thoroughly enjoying himself.

They moved on to the next supposed ghostly location and Kyra grabbed Danny's arm, holding him back as the group shuffled ahead. “Can you please not ruin this for me with your scepticism? Let me have this one night Danny, man, howay.” Kyra hissed and Danny genuinely tried to look innocent for her, “I'm not going to ruin this for you Ky, and quite frankly, I'm hurt you'd even suggest such a thing...you know, being here...in this spooky old castle at night, hearing the stories of days gone by...I think I'm finally starting to believe.”  
“Don't fuck with me Danny.”  
“Nah I'm serious, I know this is difficult to believe, but I really think I'm starting to tap into this...energy, that's here all around us. I finally get it now.”  
“If you're fucking with me, I swear....”  
“Listen, Ky, can you hear it? It's getting easier for me to tune into it now...I think I can hear the spirits around us Ky.”  
She looked doubtfully at him, “come on, mug, we'll get left behind and I don't want to be lost alone with you and your new-found ability to hear voices.”

They re-joined the back of the group, Danny still babbling quietly about “admitting the existence of something else, beyond our mortal understanding” and “finally understanding life on a deeper plane.”  
“I don't really believe in this either, you know? I just like ghost stories, there's something about the chill you get in the telling and the listening.”  
“I get that,” Danny nodded along, “but what I'm trying to say is...I'm getting a message from a white lady...”  
Kyra rolled her eyes at him, “the grey lady Danny...”  
“Yeah, she would like to be known as the white lady though, she was more of an innocent than people believed her to be...she wants her story to be heard...the truth...”

A shadow had formed in front of Danny, even if he had been pointing his torch ahead instead of at the floor it's beam wouldn't have shifted this particular shadow. It seemed to almost have a pulse, it was darker than even the far corner of the great hall. The sort of darkness one would usually expect to find in a black hole, not merely the absence of light, but the presence of a lot of nothing. It was one thing to be scared of the dark because of it's unknown qualities and contents, it was quite another to be scared because one knew for sure that what lurked within the darkness was terrible and deadly. This shadow would consume a person so completely, so quickly, it just needed a single seed of doubt in a person's mind, then it would creep in alongside the negativity, feeding from it. It would wrap it's tendrils around the body in a suffocating embrace, claiming the person for their own, squeezing out their final breath as they were dragged into the darkness and the infinite depth within.

This shadow that had attached itself to Danny tried in vain to plant the fear inside his mind, but soon found there did not seem to be a way in, there was always a way around humans – but this one, this one was...different. Inscrutable.

Danny shivered as he felt a chill descend over him, he wistfully glanced at the empty grate in the centre of the wall, considering how much more comfortable he would be if this was a tour that involved lighting the fire and drinking mead. He stared straight ahead – directly into the centre of the shadow, who twisted uncomfortably under his gaze. Humans usually did all they could to avoid noticing the shadows and the demons who lurked within. It didn't know how to deal with this reaction from this strange human. 

“I can see her,” Danny whispered, directly at the shadow, it's rattled breath caught in it's throat, surprised. 'Her?' It thought through it's usual thoughts of death, torture and destruction.  
“I can hear the white lady...she's speaking to me now...” Danny was transfixed on the shadow, he had grabbed Kyra's arm, his jaw slack and head tilted to one side as though he was trying to listen to a radio in the next room. The demon in it's confusion spun around to check behind it, believing a white lady to be standing behind it, there was no-one there.

“...She's saying...I can barely make it out..”

The demon turned back to face Danny, drew itself up to it's full height, reached out a cold arm, dripping with what looked like some sort of Hellish slime, towards Danny. It cleared it's throat, taken aback by this strange human's unusual behaviour but willing to communicate now, if speech is what he expected to hear, then speech is what he shall hear. It's voice was the sharpest nail dragged ever so slowly down the tallest blackboard, it was a frosted-up freezer draw being pulled out slowly, the scraping sound of every ice crystal jarring through the listener's teeth horribly. There were echoes of thousands of years of history in that rasping voice, it spoke of untold horrors throughout history, all the lives it had claimed, all of the millions of people it had tortured. “And now it's your turn. I'm here to claim you Daniel Galen, step into the shadows with me or I shall bring to you such unmentionable tortures, the likes of which can not be spoken in your tongue.”

The colour drained from Danny's face, his mouth hung open in terror, he was dumbstruck and rooted to the spot. Staring helplessly into the shadows, his doom encroaching, so close now as the creature lowered it's face until it was inches from Danny's. It seemed to smile, baring an impossible number of teeth that looked too sharp to be contained within it's repulsive mouth. This was it, it had won and now it would claim this human, it would have some fun with this one before he was killed, it would first pull out...

“She's telling me...she had a good life here, and her family were all very happy. They lived long and full lives...She doesn't want anyone to dwell on her passing...” Danny whispered into the demon's face. It recoiled in shock, “NO,” it's voice was coarse sandpaper, full of glass, promising blood and pain. “THAT'S NOT WHAT I SAID!” It seemed unsure now, it's voice taking on a higher pitch, caught off guard by Danny's incorrect understanding of his approaching death.

Danny grinned suddenly, “she wants us to know she is at peace now, and that we should definitely go to the pub we passed on the way here, tomorrow night.” He turned to Kyra, pleased with this revelation, as if he had imparted the wisest of mantras. He was fully prepared to take full credit for helping the poor soul of the imaginary white lady pass over to the other side with his words.

The creature growled, low and threatening, it tried to strike Danny but realised it's gnarled arm could not make contact with him. There was a wall of protection that surrounded Danny, an impenetrable barrier that saved him from being harmed by the demons. It was constructed of his disbelief of their existence and it had saved his life again tonight.

The creature roared, more of a rush of energy than a sound, it caused Danny's torch to flicker alarmingly, although it was never alive – the bulb tried desperately to die, to avoid the presence of the creature. 

The demon swung around angrily and crawled up the wall like a nightmare spider, as it passed through the ceiling above with a barely audible sucking noise, there was almost a whisper that reached Danny's consciousness “That's not what I said...I'm a fearsome beast, bringer of death, not a white lady...”


	4. Chapter 4 - A Demon By Any Other Name

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suggested Listening:
> 
> Gallant - Bourbon
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ccjJAs7Szb4&list=PLrcXkBsBsjNS6hfhNyWSnIZmdi4mHC1kB&index=4

“Slàinte Mhath!” The sentiment voiced by Kyra and echoed by Danny as they clinked the necks of their beer bottles together, they both took a swig of their respective drinks and lowered the bottles. Kyra's to the stone slab at her feet, and Danny's remained in his grasp as he lay his forearm along the arm of his camping chair.

They both tucked into their takeaway chips, the only sounds for a moment were the rustling of the paper wrappings as they were unfolded and the crackle of the logs in the fire pit in front of them. They sat in Danny's back garden on this balmy summer evening, camping chairs positioned on the patio with their backs to the house. The fire pit in front, they looked out over the lawn, to the scattering of solar lights with their inadequate but charming glow, placed among the bordering shrubs and perimeter fencing. Danny and Kyra had spent the afternoon assembling Danny's new furniture and disposing of the old. They were both reflecting on a job well done and they were celebrating their achievements with a takeaway and a case of beers while they sat out in the garden, watching the gloom of the evening slowly gathering around them as the stars appeared overhead.

Danny once again thanked Kyra for her help and she waved her fork in his direction dismissively, assuring him it was her pleasure to find out she was actually not that bad at DIY and now considered herself to be a Queen of the flat-pack. They laughed about their initial confusion over the instructions that folded out to a deceptively large size, how they frowned in unison as they scanned the large sheet for the instructions written in a language they could understand. The bags of screws and fixings that all seemed overwhelming at the start, too many pieces to the puzzle. They both slowly worked through each section of the instructions, with their valiant efforts to assemble said furniture, congratulating each other for being a good team mate and completing the job. “I'm starting to think I missed my calling, I could have been a carpenter.” They both laughed at Kyra's optimistic enthusiasm.

“Talking about things that could have been...you know...” Danny said, offhandedly, while keeping his gazed fixed on his chips, as if this was a throw-away comment, even though the look of concentration on his face suggested otherwise. “I found out recently my mam originally wanted to call me Gabriel. Can you imagine?”  
“Gabriel?” Kyra spluttered, the beer she had tipped into her mouth fought to escape back into the beer bottle, she took a moment to quell the laughter before she could swallow.  
“Yeah,” Danny mumbled, suddenly unsure of this conversation, he cast around wildly for another topic of conversation, a distraction. “Do you want another beer?”  
Kyra replaced her bottle onto the ground with more force than she had intended to use, the liquid sloshing up the sides in a mini tidal wave. “In a bit,” she waved her hand dismissively, she wouldn't be distracted from this conversation so easily. “But...Gabriel?”  
“...I don't think I want to talk about it, to be honest...”

“Tough! You brought it up you flannel, you can't mention something like this and expect not to talk about it...Gabriel.”  
“Howay.”  
“Now I need to know what your mam was on to even consider the name Gabriel – was giving birth to you so traumatic the doctors gave her enough drugs for her to think she had given birth to a 17th century oil painting?”  
“Fuck off man.” Danny laughed, despite his awkwardness.  
“Gabriel though? Gabriel?”  
“Yeah, alright...I know, it would have been bad...”  
“Bad? You wouldn't have survived the first day of nursery with a name like that, you would have had your head kicked in.”  
“Charming.”  
“You know it's true...but tell me seriously, why Gabriel?”

Danny finally met her eyes, he sighed as he stabbed a chip into a mound of tomato sauce before he answered, “my mam had a thing about names, she said words had power...if you gave something the right name, it would be protected.”  
“She could have named you something sensible, like 'goggles', or 'steel-toed boots'.”  
Danny gave Kyra such a dirty look, even the demon who stood unseen at Danny's side, was impressed.  
“My mam meant well, she wanted the best for me, that's why she decided on something more traditional and went with Daniel in the end.”  
“Mmm, good choice...Gabriel though...as in the angel Gabriel?”  
“I guess it's not a common name.”  
“Wasn't that dude supposed to be, like, a guardian angel? One of the top boys?”  
“Yeah, probably.” Danny shrugged as though this was of little consequence to him, but he had researched this and knew of the legend.  
“Aww, cute.”

They lapsed into silence as they both finished their chips, thinking about how different life could be if one thing was altered. Kyra spoke again after several moments had passed, “hang on though...your surname...”  
“Galen, yeah.”  
“Danny...for fuck's sake...it's an anagram of angel...imagine being called Gabriel Angel.”  
There was a stunned silence in the garden. Danny didn't reply, he was unsure whether he wanted to laugh or cry, it was certainly a prophetic realisation.

The demon that was at his shoulder, as always, reared back as if burned, it roared it's frustration into the night. That's why the demons couldn't kill this human, he was protected by his name. After all of these years, all of the failed attempts on his life. This was the reason he constantly thwarted all of their schemes. 

Danny was saved by his name, words held power, syllables that were meaningless until combined to weave a spell of protection around him, making him untouchable to the demons. All of these years, every time the demons had tried to claim him and couldn't – this was why. His name had been the reason they had failed every time. Danny should have died when he fell off the racehorse at fifteen years old, it had all been planned out then, it was simple. When he survived that event there had been confusion among the demons, a scramble to implement other tactics to have Danny killed. They became increasingly desperate and their plans more and more outlandish as time went on and failure repeated inexplicably. The demons fell about and tripped over each other in their frustration, while Danny strolled onwards through the confusion, frustratingly alive and unharmed despite their best efforts to claim his destiny.

The demons had been unaware of this information - had they known - all those years ago when he had been marked for death at fifteen, they would have left him alone instead. They may be demons but they weren't stupid, they knew someone with a name like his couldn't be affected by their powers of manipulation, his power was just as ancient and just as powerful as their own. Danny cancelled out the demons. If his name had been any other, if he had been a little weaker of will, if circumstances had been altered slightly, if only, if only.

There was no point dwelling on that now, Danny was a free man, the demons had no option but to leave him alone to live out the rest of his life unharmed by their hands. It was the way of things.   
The demon would have to return to headquarters, they would have to explain this to their superiors, there would have to be measures implemented for the future, to prevent this from happening again. They needed to be able to identify any problem humans early on so they didn't waste years on the people they could not subdue.

The demon at Danny's side sighed deeply, defeated at last. They had dreamed of a good pension, early retirement after this difficult assignment to spend with their family. Lots of happy memories of a fulfilled career – evenings around the fire regaling stories of the horror he had brought about, the suffering he had caused, the deaths attributed to him. So many stories for the grandchildren he wanted to be able to tell, but now he would be known as the demon who had been trying to kill an angel. He would be a laughing stock if this revelation was discovered by his colleagues.

The demon turned, casting a final baleful look at Danny, shoulders slumped now, they dragged their feet away from this human, this lost cause. There was a choke in their voice as they resigned themselves to leave Danny alone to live out the rest of his life unimpeded. A faint whisper on the wind drifted from where the demon walked, barely audible, it sounded like a curse. 

“Bastard.”


End file.
